


The First Dream of My Soul (With Hope At Last)

by bellamythology (onemanbellarmy)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Book/Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - Victorian, F/M, Fusion - The Infernal Devices, basically just fluff tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-19 13:17:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8209949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onemanbellarmy/pseuds/bellamythology
Summary: for @03890389: The Infernal Devices crossover with Bellarke as Wessa





	

It was just before 3 a.m., according the clock in the hall, and Clarke worried only briefly about the propriety of wandering the Institute at night in her dressing gown — these Shadowhunters seemed to care less about decorum and more about protecting people. (Did she even count as _people_ anymore? she wondered. Was it a question of what she truly was, or what she identified as? Because she certainly very much felt like a person; she always had, and these past few months had shaken but not obliterated that previously indubitable belief.)

The rich sound of a violin drifted through his door, a simple but haunting melody that wrapped around her like a not-altogether-comforting cocoon. Normally Wells was great company on sleepless nights, thoughtfully tranquil, but tonight he seemed preoccupied and so she was loath to disturb him.

She found her way to the library on a combination of memory and guesswork, pushing the door open cautiously. They’d said that she was welcome to these books anytime she wanted, but she still had a hard time believing her luck, especially after the Mountain Men had so horrendously restricted her access to reading (or any) material that might distract her from the purposes they had in mind for her.

A shiver ran down her spine and she turned on the lamp in the corner to banish the shadows. The light was warm, gently washing over shelves of books stuffed in every which way, stacked on and around each other in precarious yet oddly sturdy arrangements.

Trailing her fingers along worn multicolored spines, Clarke followed the shelves around the room, not altogether intent on finding something new to read. (The copy of _The_ _Codex_ that Bellamy had lent her still lay on the dressing-table in her room; she was about halfway through and loath to clutter her mind with unrelated ideas. Even as a child, Clarke had always preferred to focus on one book at a time so that she could devote the entirety of her attention to each word.)

Her eye caught a half-familiar sight, and she froze.

In the corner was Bellamy, slumped over a thick volume, dark curls unruly as ever. His eyes were closed, a slight frown between his brows. Cliché as it might sound, he really did look angelic in sleep — all the dark pretense put away, just a seventeen-year-old boy in a deadly way of living.

Clarke hesitated as he shifted, sleepy gaze landing on her.

“Clarke,” he murmured. “Couldn’t sleep, either?”

She shrugged, all forced nonchalance that convinced him not a whit. “I figured it wasn’t safe to go for a stroll outside, so this was the next best thing I could think of.”

“If you still wanted to go out —” he began to offer.

“No, this is better. Cozier.” Suddenly realizing the scandalous potential of the scene, and specifically of her poorly chosen words, Clarke flushed darkly despite herself. Even the Shadowhunters must have some sort of social etiquette, and it was disconcerting to realize that she might not realize when she’d breached it.

Even as his eyes glinted mischievously, Bellamy thankfully made no comment on the warm pink of her cheeks. (Though that _look_ was in itself a rather eloquent remark, if you knew how to read it; as his _parabatai_ , Wells would have.) Instead he inquired politely, enough, “Looking for something new to read?”

Somehow, illogically, it became imperative not to show even the weakness of indecision in front of this complex young man who seemed to see right through all her defenses. “Why, do you have any recommendations?”

Lazily he got to his feet, wandering over to a bookshelf and pulling one out, seemingly at random. Yet something about his too-casual air whispered traitorously in Clarke’s ear, suggesting that he knew exactly which part of his soul he was offering to her now.

“ _The Iliad_.” Clarke raised an eyebrow, carefully matching his tone. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a fan of Homer.”

Bellamy shrugged, the intentness of his gaze undermining the studied indifference of his posture. “Every man has his secrets, princess.”

“And I suppose yours are deeper and darker than others’, tall and handsome stranger that you like to be.”

The quirk of his mouth felt like a personal victory; Clarke tried not to read too much into this. “Hardly. In fact, just the other day, John Murphy’s sister —”

“I don’t even want to know.”

“Perhaps that is all for the best. The details might be a touch too sordid for a young lady of delicate sensibilities.”

Clarke made a show of looking around. “I don’t see any of those lying around.”

Bellamy laughed, the sound brighter and warmer than the fireplace that greeted her upon their initial arrival here, in the heart of his world — now hers, too, Clarke reminded herself.

If it was populated with people like Bellamy Blake, it certainly couldn’t be all bad.

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to [me](http://bellamythology.tumblr.com) on Tumblr!  
> \+ you should also check out the [Bellarke Fanfictions blog](http://bellarkefanfictions.tumblr.com) ;)


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